Other People's Money [91]
and eighty francs. Then she said, that, if I would let her stay, she would pay me each month in advance, besides the rent, ten francs on the old account. I agreed, and she has already paid up twenty francs."
"Poor girl!" said Maxence.
But Mme. Fortin shrugged her shoulders.
"Really," she replied, "I don't pity her much; for, if she only wanted, in forty-eight hours I should be paid, and she would have something else on her back besides that old black rag. I tell her every day, 'In these days, my child, there is but one reliable friend, which is better than all others, and which must be taken as it comes, without making any faces if it is a little dirty: that's money.' But all my preaching goes for nothing. I might as well sing."
Maxence was listening with intense delight.
"In short, what does she do?" he asked.
"That's more than I know," replied Mme. Fortin. "The young lady has not much to say. All I know is, that she leaves every morning bright and early, and rarely gets home before eleven. On Sunday she stays home, reading; and sometimes, in the evening, she goes out, always alone, to some theatre or ball. Ah! she is an odd one, I tell you!"
A lodger who came in interrupted the landlady; and Maxence walked off dreaming how he could manage to make the acquaintance of his pretty and eccentric neighbor.
Because he had once spent some hundreds of napoleons in the company of young ladies with yellow chignons, Maxence fancied himself a man of experience, and had but little faith in the virtue of a girl of twenty, living alone in a hotel, and left sole mistress of her own fancy. He began to watch for every occasion of meeting her; and, towards the last of the month, he had got so far as to bow to her, and to inquire after her health.
But, the first time he ventured to make love to her, she looked at him head to foot, and turned her back upon him with so much contempt, that he remained, his mouth wide open, perfectly stupefied.
"I am losing my time like a fool," he thought.
Great, then, was his surprise, when the following week, on a fine afternoon, he saw Mlle. Lucienne leave her room, no longer clad in her eternal black dress, but wearing a brilliant and extremely rich toilet. With a beating heart he followed her.
In front of the Hotel des Folies stood a handsome carriage and horses.
As soon as Mlle. Lucienne appeared, a footman opened respectfully the carriage-door. She went in; and the horses started at a full trot.
Maxence watched the carriage disappear in the distance, like a child who sees the bird fly upon which he hoped to lay hands.
"Gone," he muttered, "gone!"
But, when he turned around, he found himself face to face with the Fortins, man and wife; who were laughing a sinister laugh.
"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Mine Fortin. "There she is, started at last. Get up, horse! She'll do well, the child."
The magnificent equipage and elegant dress had already produced quite an effect among the neighbors. The customers sitting in front of the caf were laughing among themselves. The confectioner and his wife were casting indignant glances at the proprietors of the Hotel des Folies.
"You see, M. Favoral," replied Mme. Fortin, "such a girl as that was not made for our neighborhood. You must make up your mind to it; you won't see much more of her on the Boulevard du Temple."
Without saying a word, Maxence ran to his room, the hot tears streaming from his eyes. He felt ashamed of himself; for, after all, what was this girl to him?.
She is gone!" he repeated to himself. "Well, good-by, let her go!"
But, despite all his efforts at philosophy, he felt an immense sadness invading his heart: ill-defined regrets and spasms of anger agitated him. He was thinking what a fool he had been to believe in the grand airs of the young lady, and that, if he had had dresses and horses to give her, she might not have received him so harshly. At last he made up his mind to think no more of her, - one of those fine resolutions which are always taken, and never
"Poor girl!" said Maxence.
But Mme. Fortin shrugged her shoulders.
"Really," she replied, "I don't pity her much; for, if she only wanted, in forty-eight hours I should be paid, and she would have something else on her back besides that old black rag. I tell her every day, 'In these days, my child, there is but one reliable friend, which is better than all others, and which must be taken as it comes, without making any faces if it is a little dirty: that's money.' But all my preaching goes for nothing. I might as well sing."
Maxence was listening with intense delight.
"In short, what does she do?" he asked.
"That's more than I know," replied Mme. Fortin. "The young lady has not much to say. All I know is, that she leaves every morning bright and early, and rarely gets home before eleven. On Sunday she stays home, reading; and sometimes, in the evening, she goes out, always alone, to some theatre or ball. Ah! she is an odd one, I tell you!"
A lodger who came in interrupted the landlady; and Maxence walked off dreaming how he could manage to make the acquaintance of his pretty and eccentric neighbor.
Because he had once spent some hundreds of napoleons in the company of young ladies with yellow chignons, Maxence fancied himself a man of experience, and had but little faith in the virtue of a girl of twenty, living alone in a hotel, and left sole mistress of her own fancy. He began to watch for every occasion of meeting her; and, towards the last of the month, he had got so far as to bow to her, and to inquire after her health.
But, the first time he ventured to make love to her, she looked at him head to foot, and turned her back upon him with so much contempt, that he remained, his mouth wide open, perfectly stupefied.
"I am losing my time like a fool," he thought.
Great, then, was his surprise, when the following week, on a fine afternoon, he saw Mlle. Lucienne leave her room, no longer clad in her eternal black dress, but wearing a brilliant and extremely rich toilet. With a beating heart he followed her.
In front of the Hotel des Folies stood a handsome carriage and horses.
As soon as Mlle. Lucienne appeared, a footman opened respectfully the carriage-door. She went in; and the horses started at a full trot.
Maxence watched the carriage disappear in the distance, like a child who sees the bird fly upon which he hoped to lay hands.
"Gone," he muttered, "gone!"
But, when he turned around, he found himself face to face with the Fortins, man and wife; who were laughing a sinister laugh.
"What did I tell you?" exclaimed Mine Fortin. "There she is, started at last. Get up, horse! She'll do well, the child."
The magnificent equipage and elegant dress had already produced quite an effect among the neighbors. The customers sitting in front of the caf were laughing among themselves. The confectioner and his wife were casting indignant glances at the proprietors of the Hotel des Folies.
"You see, M. Favoral," replied Mme. Fortin, "such a girl as that was not made for our neighborhood. You must make up your mind to it; you won't see much more of her on the Boulevard du Temple."
Without saying a word, Maxence ran to his room, the hot tears streaming from his eyes. He felt ashamed of himself; for, after all, what was this girl to him?.
She is gone!" he repeated to himself. "Well, good-by, let her go!"
But, despite all his efforts at philosophy, he felt an immense sadness invading his heart: ill-defined regrets and spasms of anger agitated him. He was thinking what a fool he had been to believe in the grand airs of the young lady, and that, if he had had dresses and horses to give her, she might not have received him so harshly. At last he made up his mind to think no more of her, - one of those fine resolutions which are always taken, and never